The truth is, we buggered it up. Namibia Horse Safaris ruined everything. Goddammit, it was just too good.

This was one of our first rides early on in our Bad Pony adventures. Now every ride is immediately compared to this epic adventure.

By Alex du Toit

Photography by Alex du Toit, Emmy Meiklejohn & Titch Tetley

It always starts like this: the two of us on a plane, heading towards a destination – in this case Windhoek. Alex turns to Roxanne, or vice versa, Tweedledum and Tweedledee: “So what is the plan? Where are we riding? Any idea of the route? Where are we sleeping?” The other replies, “Ummmmm, no idea! Gah, well if it is dull we have each other at least!”

After dealing with grumpy passport control and a bit of a wait to get through, it is a relief to see smiley Vernon waiting to collect us. Bags are thrown in the van and off we head to our accommodation to meet the rest of the group. We imagine arriving at a low key farm. Instead, we are greeted by sweeping valley views, a gorgeous hotel, cold beers and a spectacular sunset.

We meet Andrew Gillies, owner of Namibia Horse Safari. He looks way too chill for a cowboy in his shorts and flip flops – how hardcore could this ride be? First, he warns us this is the last night in a room; from tomorrow we are sleeping under the stars. I can see the eyes around the table grow wide (the foreigners immediately ask if we will get eaten – by what, we are unsure). Second, he goes around the table asking us to tell him about our riding experience and style. Everyone seems very experienced and we start to get nervous. Note to self: always play your experience down. Do not be the idiot who talks a big game they cannot follow through on and ends up on the spicy racehorse when they are only used to fat gymkhana ponies.

Everyone starts heading to bed. Andrew opens another bottle of wine and begins to share his stories.

The next day we arrive in the Sossusvlei and race up a big old dune, because when in Namibia. We arrive at the campsite, meet the team and, most importantly, the horses. Roxanne is on a fiery redhead, Comet, a perfect match, and my horse, Tick Tack, my cheeky Paint, has escaped to socialise and search for snacks. Larry (the matchmaker) is laughing hard at this appropriate hook up. We saddle up and head out, Andrew’s words – “the only rule is keep the horse between you and the ground” – ringing in my ears.

The first LSD (long slow distance) comes up, the horses are fresh and champing at the bit, a few happy bucks are flicked about and hearts are pumping. As the day progresses we start moving a bit faster. It is glorious. As we head towards camp for the night, Andrew says, “We are aiming for the trees, you can let them out and have a good run.” Roxanne has been holding Comet back, team Kissed By Fire are ready. They go and quickly become a blur in the distance. Panic: she is heading for a fence. Everyone turns to me to tell me she is in trouble. I chuckle – nope, she just misunderstood the brief, she was literally heading for the trees. Chill people, the woman can ride. And luckily Andrew can whistle. She comes back blushing but with a very happy twinkle in her eye. “That was fun,” she admits under her breath.

We roll into camp, the team waiting for us to untack. The horses have a well deserved roll in the dust and long drink of water, and we collapse into chairs around the fire. Our beds are stretchers with ridiculously comfy bedrolls that we snuggle into after a hearty, delicious dinner by Willie the chef – thanks to him I swear I actually put on weight that week. We fall asleep under the Milky Way, shooting stars endless above us and laughing geckos giggling in the background.

Phones do not work. It is dreamy. We wake up to the sound of the fire and coffee being made. Mornings start early to make the most of the cool before the heat really sets in. The thing that is astounding about Namibia is the landscape – or should I say landscapes – because every few hours it feels like you are on a new planet. It is breathtaking. We are alone, not another person or car for days, just the occasional ostrich and oryx eyeing us. The loose horses race us to the viewpoints, posing on the horizon as if they are trying to tell us to stop and take in the view. We do not hesitate to listen. We go silent. You can’t not appreciate this insane beauty.

The riding is tough. Every day we cover 40 km or more. The heat reaches 38 degrees Celsius (it is March in the southern hemisphere), the horses grow fitter, reins get longer, bums get a little more tender. Two riders fall off. They are rattled and decide to head home. It is not a light decision after flying around the world to join this ride, but this is not for the faint hearted – only for the wild and bold and fit enough.

The eight days somehow fly by and we can see the landscape start to change to bush and feel the Atlantic in the air. We ride through riverbeds into the sunset on our last night, laughs in our bellies and tears in our eyes. We do not want it to end. We feel grubby, exhausted and alive. Pure bliss. The obsession is real.

We return the following year, this time for an unexplored and wilder route, GPS points plotted by the team in vehicles months before. We meet the crew at “Fingerklip” or “God’s Finger”, with Larry holding up her own throbbing finger – she and a scorpion had an argument. Eeep. We are reminded the Namibian wild can be viciously sneaky.

Our group is heavenly, a motley crew from far-flung places with good banter and a dangerous affinity for late nights and long whisky pours. We go to bed as the moon sets, cheeks sore from laughing, and wake up the same way. Larry’s laugh becomes our alarm clock. After the epic rains earlier in the year, the grass is high against the horses’ chests. We ride through fields of gold – eat your heart out, Russell Crowe. Again, the beauty of the place leaves you speechless.

The campsites are riverbeds and canyons. Is it even real? Angus teaches us to tell the time by reading the stars. We ride around a long red faced mountain range that looks like an oil painting. The range opens up to the Messum Crater, moonlike gallops become the pace and we screech with wild joy as we fly into the abyss.

Nothing compares to this.

INTERVIEW: Andrew Gillies, Chaos Cowboy